


Sounds great (Is this a date?)

by orphan_account



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Deaf Clint, Getting Together, Insecure Phil, M/M, Oblivious Clint, Pining, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-12
Updated: 2014-07-12
Packaged: 2018-02-08 13:15:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1942545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Great." Coulson smiles at him, and Clint loses a few moments just staring at the tips of Coulson's ears, flushed a particularly violent shade of pink. <em>Could Coulson actually be...?</em></p><p>No. Clint's probably just projecting, what with his stupidly huge crush on Coulson and all. No way Coulson is asking him out on a date.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sounds great (Is this a date?)

**Author's Note:**

> A massive thank you to [Daz](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Dazzledfirestar/pseuds/Dazzledfirestar) and [thefrogg](http://archiveofourown.org/users/thefrogg/pseuds/thefrogg) for beta reading through this!

Clint wakes up to a pounding headache, a tube stuck in his right arm, and a familiar agent napping on his stomach. He resists the urge to thread his fingers through Coulson's hair, indescribably warmed by the man's show of unequivocal trust. He's completely unguarded, snoring gently into Clint's midsection.

"Hey," Clint says, softly, and frowns when he realizes he can't hear himself, hand flying to his ear with a wince at the sharp protest from his arm. His hearing aids aren't in, apparently, and a quick search finds them resting on the table next to him.

Coulson moves sleepily, lazily pushing himself up from the bed only to greet Clint with a soft smile. "Morning," he mouths, before raising his hand, forestalling a yawn, and Clint finds himself helplessly smiling back.

"What happened?" he asks, hoping that he's managed to estimate the correct volume - he doesn't wear his hearing aids all the time, but speaking without them is still an unfamiliar experience, even after all these years - and Coulson doesn't wince, which is a good sign.

"You were about to jump from a building, again-" Clint feels his cheeks heat, because this far he can still remember, "But Stark managed to reach you before the hostiles. We're not entirely clear on the details, but one of the hostiles was armed with a long-ranged energy weapon. Stark escaped mostly unscathed, but you took a glancing shot to the head, knocking you out."

"How long am I stuck here?" he asks, making grabby hands at his hearing aids, but Coulson is one step ahead of him, as usual, already reaching for the devices.

"Medical wants to keep you for another 24 hours, to monitor your condition, since it's an unfamiliar weapon." Clint pulls out his best pout, and Phil huffs a soft chuckle.

"Dr Jennings asked me to tell you that, though she'd rather you have you stay for the duration, you should be able to leave at any time. If the pain doesn't ease, she requests you come speak to her as quickly as possible."

Clint actually  _likes_  Dr Jennings, one of the few Medical personnel willing to cut straight to the brunt of the matter. She skips the condolences and the platitudes and the treating him like a useless lump, preferring blunt honesty and simple rules to medical babble. After his last few too-early escapes from Medical he's found himself trusting in her opinion.

Clint points to the IV, cocking an eyebrow, and Coulson rolls his eyes. "Yes, that means you can take it out," he says, the fondness undercutting his tone belying his exasperated expression, and Clint shoots him a quick grin before efficiently detaching the tube from his skin.

"Where's everyone else?" he inquires after a few moments, fitting the tiny hearing aids to his ear with an ease that only comes from practice. He sends off a silent _Thank you_ to Bruce and Tony for managing to design something more compact than the clunky devices he'd had to wear earlier in his S.H.I.E.L.D career.

"Stark told me to tell them when you're awake, and ferried everyone else off to shawarma," Coulson replies, but his eyes, one of his few tells, skitter quickly away from Clint's, only to match his gaze again less than a heartbeat later.

Clint frowns, because Coulson's telling the truth - as usual, he doesn't lie to Clint, something that will never cease to amaze him - but he's hiding something. Oddly enough, though, instead of barging ahead and pushing at the chink in Coulson's armor, Clint finds himself content to simply nod. 

He actually _trusts_ Coulson. He's torn between being terrified and elated, because he never thought he'd be able to trust anyone again, but there's no one else he'd rather place his faith in.

"But," Coulson starts, and Clint is startled to notice what seems like the beginnings of a blush blooming on his (immaculately shaven, as usual) cheeks. "I was thinking that maybe I could- if you want, that is, I could drive you over to the Avengers tower myself?"

Clint blinks, surprised. "Sure," he says after a moment, because, well, he guesses Coulson's right, there really is no need to rouse the others over something as trivial as this. Besides... it's taken him a while to be able to admit it to himself, even in the safety of his own head, but... Clint _likes_ spending time with Coulson. A little bit more than strictly appropriate, even.

He carefully stifles the smile that threatens to work its way onto his face at the thought of just him and Coulson together for a while, choosing instead to look away, sitting himself up on the bed. "Want to grab a coffee on the way?"

Coulson smiles, and Clint swears that it's a touch more bashful than usual. "Sounds great."

 

\---

 

They end up stopping at a Starbucks, because even though Clint won't admit his weakness for frappuccinos under threat of imminent and substantial torture, Coulson seems to have cottoned on. He's even managed to somehow glean Clint's special order, hazelnut and mocha on a coffee base, and Clint slurps happily for the rest of the drive back to the tower, Coulson apparently content with his tall black, two sugars.

He's fairly certain that Coulson is biting back a smile whenever Clint makes a happy sigh of pleasure, so he plays along, tiny groans elongating into full-on moans, almost pornographic in their nature, and when they get out of the S.H.I.E.L.D-issue car, Clint is elated to realize Coulson's eyes are crinkling in full force, lips twitching.

"Thanks for the _ride_ ," he teases, as they wait for the elevator, and Coulson huffs a soft breath of amusement.

They make their way up to Clint's floor in a companionable quiet, comfortable in each other's presence. Clint loses himself in the even tempo of Coulson's breaths, in, out, in, out, and suddenly the elevator doors are opening.

He turns, about to... invite Coulson in, or something, but Coulson's already looking at him, mouth framing the beginnings of a sentence. "I, uh," Coulson grimaces, and Clint tries his best - and fails - not to find it helplessly endearing. "There's this new restaurant I saw, on our way here. Do you like Malaysian food?"

Clint can't desist from raising his eyebrows in confusion. "I... I guess?" he hazards. "I don't particularly care for it, though."

Coulson's face just falls. "Oh," he says, quiet, and Clint finds himself hurriedly backpedaling.

"I mean-" he starts, cutting himself off with a curse when the elevator doors start to close, nailing the hold button with a quick jab of his thumb. "I'd like to go, yeah. It sounds-" he hesitates, but decides, _what the hell_ , _may as well be honest_ , "I'd like to go with you."

Coulson beams at him. "Okay. Brilliant. Um," he pauses for a moment, as if composing himself, "Would you be amenable to being picked up at seven? Tonight?"

Clint bites his lip to keep from grinning like an idiot, because he will never get over Coulson fumbling with his words. He'd normally hesitate to use the word _adorable_ in relation to a trained government assassin, but in this case, he just can't help himself. Plus, he and Coulson have had a long-standing tradition of sampling some of the local foodstuffs while on ops together, and though he'd been wary of bringing it up ever since Manhattan, dreading possible rejection, Clint has to admit that he's missed it. The easy companionship, Coulson's dry humor... he's missed _Coulson_. "Sure. Yeah."

"Great." Coulson smiles at him, and Clint loses a few moments just staring at the tips of Coulson's ears, flushed a particularly violent shade of pink. _Could Coulson actually be...?_

No. Clint's probably just projecting, what with his stupidly huge crush on Coulson and all. No way Coulson is asking him out on a date.

He steps out of the elevator, offering up a tentative wave. "See you at seven, then?"

Coulson grins, then, and Clint can't tear his gaze away, heart giving an almighty thump in his chest. "Sounds great."

 

\---

 

When a knock sounds at his door at 6:55 sharp, Clint is already showered and changed. He doesn't want to look like he's making a lot of effort, since it's just a dinner between friends and all, but he can't help but try to dress nice. He's pulled out one of his more form-fitting jeans and t-shirt combinations, the one he tends to reserve for public appearances, and took special care not to completely ruffle up his hair.

When he opens the door, he's surprised to find Coulson outfitted with a tailored suit, emphasizing the taper of his waist, his powerful shoulders, bringing out the incredible blue of his eyes. "Sorry for being so early," Coulson says, brow crinkled in worry, as if he's actually at fault for being punctual.

"Oh, that isn't a problem," Clint manages to choke out, nearly swallowing his own tongue in the process, and motions for Coulson to step in. He tries his best not to let his eyes roam down, but he's unable to resist at least a glance, stifling a moan at the shape of Coulson's ass perfectly highlighted in the suit's faintly shimmering fabric.

"It's just-" Coulson says, grimacing, "I wasn't sure how long it would take with Lola, since... well, it's been a while since I took her out for an actual drive."

 _What_.

"You brought Lola?" he breathes, and Coulson nods.

"I mean, if you'd rather walk, that's okay too, but-"

Clint needs to sit down. "Just... Coulson- um, Phil, I just-"

Coulson - _Phil_ \- stares at him, shame and dismay written clearly in the slump of his shoulders. "Oh, sorry," he says, taking a small step back. "Did you change your mind? Because- that's perfectly fine, you don't need to feel pressured into going-"

" _Phil_ ," Clint cuts him off desperately, because Phil can't leave, not when Clint's brain has finally caught on to what's going on. "Phil, I-" he pauses for a moment before heaving a frustrated sigh, because really, the obvious way to ask is pretty much the only way. "Phil, is this a date?"

Phil's expression is answer enough. "Fuck, Clint, I'm so sorry," he says, face coloring in full force. "I'll just- I made a mistake, I'm really sorry for all the inconvenience, I-" his voice cracks, and Clint's heart lurches, because this isn't Agent Coulson he's been dealing with. This is Phil, dorky and awkward, _Phil_ , who Clint's been nursing a crush on for years, and he was such an idiot that he didn't even notice the distinction.

"Just- can you give me five minutes?" he asks, pleading, and Phil... well, Phil just looks lost.

"Five minutes?"

Clint tries for a smile, hoping it's not as shaky as he feels. "It'll take me around that long to get changed."

Phil just blinks, and Clint decides, _fuck it_ , he's going to tell Phil how he feels. It's not like he hasn't bared his heart to him on countless occasions before.

"I- I... the reason I said yes, even though I didn't know it was a date... I mean-" Clint exhales in a rush, and the words he's been trying to find just tumble out. "I like spending time with you, Phil. I- I _really_ like spending time with you."

For a moment, Phil just looks at him, and Clint begins to calculate exactly how much he's managed to fuck this up, but then Phil's mouth is breaking into a grin, hopeful and sheepish and indescribably incredible.

"I really like spending time with you too," he murmurs, and Clint just lets himself look at Phil for a moment, bask in his attention.

"I'm going to, uh-" he starts, remembering, just as Phil begins with, "You said you wanted to-"

Clint cuts himself off with a startled laugh, because he can already see Natasha's sardonic grin when he tells her. "I'm going to change," he says. "Meet you here in five minutes?"

Phil smiles at him, eyes crinkling, and Clint's breath catches in his throat. "Sounds great."


End file.
